


Aftermath of the Schweinfurt–Regensburg mission

by ko_writes



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, Disgusting food (Arthur didn't even cook it!), Drag act, F/M, Flashbacks, Friendship, George Formby, Historical Inaccuracy, Hospitalisation, Music Hall, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, RAF - Freeform, Trench humour, Victoria Cross, Vomiting, WWII slang, quotes, shell-shock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-22 19:02:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 9,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2518487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ko_writes/pseuds/ko_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Schweinfurt–Regensburg mission was an air combat battle in World War II. </p><p>Captain Martin Crieff was among the casualties; shrapnel wounds, second degree burns and severe shell-shock. He will be invalided back to Blighty once seen fit to be transported to the care of his mother and siblings. War hero.</p><p>Officer Douglas Richardson, a casualty of Operation Torch; multiple lacerations, bullet wounds to the abdomen, shell-shock, but nothing as severe as Crieff's. Scheduled for transportation in one month, if Crieff hasn't murdered him first.</p><p>Carolyn Knapp-Shappey, doctor; caring for both Crieff and Richardson.</p><p>Arthur Shappey, nurse; caring for Crieff and Richardson along side his mother. Excited to be caring for Crieff and is notably in awe of the man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vomit on the floor

_Bombs exploding. Screams. I have to fly the plane. I’m a Captain. I can do this._

_What?! Oh God! We’re getting shot at! No, no, no, no! Too loud! Ear’s ringing; the bus has been hit! Oh God! I’m going to die! Where’s the rest of my squadron?!_

_Oh God! They’re in the ocean! The planes are sinking! I can’t see the survivors! Are there survivors?! I don’t ruddy know! I have to ditch! Can I bale?! I don’t know! I’m just a dumb kid! My dad was right!_

_Prepare to ditch. Strap on my ‘chute. Prepare to bale. I can’t! I can’t do it! I’m an anchor! Help me!_

…

   Martin heaved over the side of the hospital bed. He could feel himself burning.

   “Everything Tiggerty-boo, Crieff?” Douglas drawled.

   “No, it bloody well isn’t,” Martin gasped between heavy breaths.

   “Such profanity coming from a Captain,” the older man tutted.

   “I can do much better than that…” Martin rasped as the tremors made themselves known. Martin groaned, “Richardson, have a coffin nail?

   “Wouldn’t a nice cup of char be better? You know what Dr Knapp-Shappey’s like…”

   “Fuck you.”

   “Now, if you’re going to go back to Civvy Street you need to start saying ‘no thanks’ instead of ‘fuck you’…” Douglas raised an eyebrow.

   “And you need to give me a cigarette, or I’ll clobber you.”

   “What? Shaking like that? I don’t think so, Crieff.”

   “How much longer do I have to put up with you?”

   “One month and I’ll be going back to Blighty with my gorgeous wife, who still thinks I’m brilliant despite being shot in Operation Torch.”

   “Lucky you.”

   “Any news on when you’ll be going back home?”

   “Still nothing. Now give me that coffin nail…” Martin ordered. Douglas sighed and reluctantly gave him a cigarette and lighter.

   Martin put the pre-rolled cigarette in his mouth and flicked the lighter on, hands still shaking. “Do you need me to light it for you?” Douglas drawled.

   “I’m perfectly capable, Richardson,” Martin stiffly replied. The cigarette, after a few tries, lit and Martin took a long, shaky, drag.

   “And the prissy Captain with something resembling a stick up his arse is back.”

   “ _Captain Crieff!_ ” The harsh voice of Dr Carolyn Knapp-Shappey yelled, “Just because you’re a war hero doesn’t permit you to smoke in my ward!” She snatched the cigarette from his lips and stubbed it out on the worn wooden bedframe.

   “S-sorry, m-ma’am,” Martin stuttered. Damn anxiety.

   Douglas sighed, “Go easy on him. He had a nightmare and was sick over the side of the bed and couldn’t stop shaking. Not that impressive for a war hero –”

   “I’m not a bloody war hero!”

   “Your Victoria Cross begs to differ. They don’t give them to anyone, you know,” Douglas stated.

   “They bally well do because they gave one to me.”

   “Captain –”

   “Humility must always be the portion of any man who receives acclaim earned in blood of his followers and sacrifices of his friends…” Martin’s eyes glazed over, deep in thought or flash back. Sometimes he just withdrew.

   Carolyn sighed, “I’ll get Arthur to clean it up now.”

   “The boy’s seen a lot…”

   “Too much, if you ask me. I sometimes think Arthur’s seen too much and he’s just a nurse.”

   “True, though. He has to deal with the injuries you deal with too.”

   “I remember one morning he went on duty, treating some Americans, and was getting the change of shift report at the nursing station. One of the patients from his wing came to him and said another patient wanted to see him… The patient who wanted to see him was a great big strapping Marine who had his right arm amputated and both legs amputated. He had had a brain injury too and, as a result, hadn't been able to speak although he was alert... When Arthur walked down, he looked at him and said, "Hi, Arthur." The patients were just so excited about it because it was the first thing he had said – "Hi, Arthur." Arthur almost cried. He was so ecstatic, but when that wore of, he realised he had been excited over someone saying two words, and he didn’t think that was right. I didn’t know what to tell him…”

   Douglas mutely nodded.

   Talk of the devil and he’ll appear, Arthur leapt into the room. “Hello, chaps! How are you this –” Arthur stopped dead (probably not the best phrase in a hospital) seeing Martin’s withdrawn look. “Poor Skip…” He sighed.

   “You need to mop up Arthur, another nightmare,” Carolyn instructed.

   “I’ll do that now. I was hoping Skip was getting better…”

   “Unfortunately, Crieff is only getting worse from what I’ve seen. Oh well, press on, stiff upper lips and all that; that’s the advice, isn’t it?”

   “Unfortunately… But it’s bad advice. If only everything weren’t so… secret. Talking might help… Maybe after this dreadful war is over…”

   “Won’t help.”

   “Worth a try…”

   “They’ll think he’s a nancy-boy if he tries.”

   “Would you?”

   “No, but I don’t like Crieff and won’t be keeping in contact.”

   “If you don’t like him, why are you so concerned?”

   “I’m not concerned!”

   “Then how do you know he’s getting worse?”

   “Because I’m in a bed right next to him with nothing to do!”

   “Fine. I’m going to continue my rounds. Arthur, clean up.”

   “Yes, mum.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ditch - to perform a landing in the ocean  
> Bale - to leave an aircraft by jumping  
> Anchor - one who waits too long to drop by parachute.  
> Tiggerty-boo - all in order  
> Coffin nail - Cigarette  
> Char - tea  
> Fuck you - often used in place of 'no thanks'. Soldiers were often given the same advice Douglas gives Martin.  
> Civvy Street - Civilian life  
> Clobber - hit  
> Bally - very  
> Nancy-boy - whimp


	2. I wish it had never happened!

   Douglas awoke to heavy breathing next to him. _If Crieff vomits on me, I’ll smother him with a pillow – war hero or not!_

   He rolled over to see Martin, very much awake, clinging to his pillow. The look of fear in his eyes was almost… heart-breaking. This boy was a hollow shell of what he imagined he was like before. “Crieff?”

   “Does it ever go away?” Martin struggled against gritted teeth.

   “What?”

   “Does… It ever... Go away…”

   “Crieff, your case is chronic, mine was acute; it’s different…”

   “I don’t want to live… if this will stay…”

   Douglas knew what was going on. He heard the stories. Shell shock often triggered depression and suicidal thoughts, especially chronic cases like Martin’s. “Crieff, you’ll get better. Just give it a –”

   “No! I don’t want to…” Tears rolled down his high cheek bones.

   “Martin!” Douglas yells trying to clear the boy’s mind, “You aren’t going to do that, you’re a soldier –!”

   “Not anymore! Now I’m a useless invalid who can't even steady his hands after a bad dream!”

   “You aren’t an invalid…” Douglas sighed.

   “Then why am I being _Invalid_ ed home, Richardson?!”

   “You aren’t fit to fly anymore, because those bombs will set you off and you’ll crash; but that doesn’t make you an invalid.”

   “I can’t fly! If I can’t fly, I’m an invalid. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

   “You’re a war hero! Pull yourself together!”

   “I’m not a war hero… I was only there… I only survived…”

   “The rest of your squadron died, but you survived! That has to be a testament to –”

   “I was terrified! I waited too long to jump and went down with the plane! I only got out due to luck; the only luck I’ve _ever_ had in my life and I wish it had never happened!”

   “Martin… What are you –”

   “I wish I had died.”

   Douglas didn’t know what to say. He saw Martin’s sunken, red-rimmed eyes and gaunt face. The boy might as well be a ghost. He didn’t dare stare too hard in case Martin just crumbled into dust. “Stiff upper lip. Keep pushing on,” was all he said before rolling back over and attempting to go back to sleep, ignoring the stifled sobs from behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. Short chapter, I know.  
> Please review.


	3. Blood on the Risers

   The day came filtering slowly through the windows as Douglas opened his eyes and let the background noise of the hospital fade back into his consciousness. He groaned as he sat up to trudge to the loo and complete his morning routine before breakfast.

   He tried the door but found it locked. Martin. Martin hasn’t gotten out of bed all the time he’s been here... not in front of him, anyway. What’s so different today?

   “Martin, it’s my turn to use the bog!”

   “No! It’s your turn in two minutes, forty six seconds! You’re up early today!” He heard called from inside.

   “I haven’t even seen you walk around before, and you’ve been here for, what, four months now?”

   “There’s a reason for that!”

   “Well, what is it, Courageous Crieff?”

   “Don’t fucking call me that!”

   “Newspapers did.”

   “Just belt up!”

   “Of course,” Douglas smirked.

   The door clicked open to reveal a rather red-faced and annoyed Captain Crieff. “There, all yours.” Martin walked, in the broadest sense of the word, back to his bed. Douglas couldn’t help but find the Captain’s hysterical ‘dancing’ gait hilarious. Martin scowled at him as he shakily climbed into bed. “Yes, hilarious. Captain Crieff the “ _war hero_ ” can’t even walk properly; bally hilarious!”

   Douglas snorted, though felt a little bad for his reaction. “Look, I’m sorry Crieff. It isn’t your fault…”

   “Sod off,” Martin grunted, obviously mistaking his apology for mocking.

   “Very well,” Douglas went to brush his teeth and wash his face; with any luck there would be a bowlful of steaming, edible food beside his bed when he came out.

…

   No such luck; it seemed Arthur had been given free rein over the kitchen again and a bowl of grey… gloop with… bits in it was ice cold on his nightstand. “Arthur excelled himself…” Douglas moaned.

   “Oh, stop complaining…” One of the other soldiers in the ward, Karl, grunted, “Better than the food in the trenches; speaking from experience, like.”

   “You got worse than _this_ –?” Douglas scooped some of the slop with his spoon and let it unceremoniously plop back into the bowl.

   “Yeah, like. You ever try fried lice?”

“Fried rice would be preferable to –”

   “No, not fried _rice_ ; fried _lice_. We used to pluck them off our boys and fry ‘em. Dirk used to be the best one to get ‘um from – huge, great juicy things. Isn’t that right, Dirk?!” Karl called, the man in question just grunted, “‘e even picked up German ones at some point – no idea how. Nice change of flavour…”

   Douglas and Martin stared at him in horror. “Dear God…” Douglas gasped.

   “Aw, they was fine with a bit of butter… until we ran out of butter…” Karl frowned.

   “Couldn’t you just have used grease from frying bacon?” Arthur, whom no one had known was standing there.

   “Oh! Yeah! We resorted to eating sweaty lice because we didn’t want the huge, juicy lump of bacon sitting in the corner!” Karl drawled, effect lost in the saliva pooling at the corners of his mouth. Arthur slumped away. “Still… At that point we were better than the Americans, I heard they resorted to eating things like monkeys, grasshoppers, worms and stuff like that over in those jungles they’re in when they’re meant to be _here_. Mind, last I saw ‘um, the boys were eyeing up the corpses as a tasty meal…”

   “Yuck!” Martin exclaimed, Douglas certainly seconded the notion. Karl chuckled.

   “That’s the RAF for you, bunch of softies. Well… unless your parachute doesn’t open, then you’re a land owner… Speaking of which… Boys!”

   Martin growled when they heard the other six soldiers – all foot soldiers – in the ward sing;

_He hit the ground, the sound was ‘splat’, his blood went spurting high,_

_His comrades were heard to say, ‘a helluva way to die!’_

_He laid there rolling around in the welter of his gore,_

_And he ain’t gonna jump no more!_

   “Shut the hell up!” Martin snapped.

   “Oh, come on Crieff; the American paratroopers sing that as a joke all the time –” Douglas laughed.

   “That’s what they said!” Martin yelled.

   “Who?” Karl questioned.

   “The boys in my squadron!” Martin huddled in on himself, “Oh God!”

…

   _A proper air mission! I can’t wait! I’ll be a hero! I just have this ride with my squadron and we’ll be at the airfield!_

_“Uh… Captain…” a rookie speaks up._

_“Yes, Kieran?”_

_“I’m… Scared, sir…”_

_“What have you got to be scared about?” One of the soldiers, Anderson, roars, “We’re going to be heroes! Have our names in the papers! Our pick of the girls!”_

_“If we survive!” Kieran squeaks. Bless the boy, he’s only eighteen, “What if we have to bale?”_

_“Then we strap on our ‘chute and jump,” I smile kindly._

_“C’mon, lads; let’s take a leaf out of our American cousins’ book!” Anderson announced before he sang:_

**_He was just a rookie trooper and he surely shook with fright,_ **

**_He checked all his equipment and made sure his pack was tight;_ **

**_He had to sit and listen to those awful engines roar,_ **

**_"You ain't gonna jump no more!"_ **

_“Come on chaps, this is cruel!” I laugh. But the rest join in except Kieran and I._

**_ Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die, _ **

**_ Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die, _ **

**_ Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die, _ **

**_ He ain't gonna jump no more! _ **

_Another, Tomkins, I think, clears his throat and shouts:_

**_"Is everybody happy?" cried the Sergeant looking up,_ **

**_Our Hero feebly answered "Yes," and then they stood him up;_ **

**_He jumped into the icy blast, his static line unhooked,_ **

**_He ain't gonna jump no more._ **

_“Boo! Get him off!” the men cry before continuing._

**_ Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die, _ **

**_ Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die, _ **

**_ Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die, _ **

**_ He ain't gonna jump no more! _ **

_“Come on, Kieran; you know it!” Anderson coaxes in his loud, boisterous manner. Kieran sheepishly sings:_

**_He counted long, he counted loud, he waited for the shock,_ **

**_He felt the wind, he felt the cold, he felt the awful drop,_ **

**_The silk from his reserves spilled out, and wrapped around his legs,_ **

**_He ain't gonna jump no more._ **

_The boy had a good voice on him._

**_ Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die, _ **

**_ Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die, _ **

**_ Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die, _ **

**_ He ain't gonna jump no more! _ **

_Anderson takes over… again:_

**_The risers swung around his neck, connectors cracked his dome,_ **

**_Suspension lines were tied in knots around his skinny bones;_ **

**_The canopy became his shroud; he hurtled to the ground._ **

**_He ain't gonna jump no more._ **

_Kieran squeaks again; poor boy._

**_ Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die, _ **

**_ Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die, _ **

**_ Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die, _ **

**_ He ain't gonna jump no more! _ **

_Anderson claps steadily, the others join in soon._

**_The days he'd lived and loved and laughed kept running through his mind,_ **

**_He thought about the girl back home, the one he'd left behind;_ **

**_He thought about the medic corps, and wondered what they'd find,_ **

**_He ain't gonna jump no more._ **

**_ Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die, _ **

**_ Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die, _ **

**_ Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die, _ **

**_ He ain't gonna jump no more! _ **

_Harrison takes the next one; his deep, operatic voice is useful for times like this:_

**_The ambulance was on the spot, the jeeps were running wild,_ **

**_The medics jumped and screamed with glee, they rolled their sleeves and smiled,_ **

**_For it had been a week or more since last a 'Chute had failed,_ **

**_He ain't gonna jump no more._ **

**_ Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die, _ **

**_ Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die, _ **

**_ Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die, _ **

**_ He ain't gonna jump no more! _ **

_“C’mon Captain!” Anderson’s attempting to get me to sing now, “Show us your music hall spirit!”_

_I sigh and join in:_

**_He hit the ground, the sound was "SPLAT", his blood went spurting high;_ **

**_His comrades, they were heard to say "A hell of a way to die!"_ **

**_He lay there, rolling 'round in the welter of his gore,_ **

**_He ain't gonna jump no more._ **

_Cheering. They’re cheering me! Even Kieran! The boy’s even laughing!_

**_ Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die, _ **

**_ Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die, _ **

**_ Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die, _ **

**_ He ain't gonna jump no more! _ **

_I’ll take the solemn notes as I always did in Blighty… when I wasn’t in a dress in ‘great music hall tradition’._

**_There was blood upon the risers, there were brains upon the chute,_ **

**_Intestines were a-dangling from his paratrooper’s suit,_ **

**_He was a mess, they picked him up, and poured him from his boots,_ **

**_He ain't gonna jump no more._ **

_We’re all swaying together now, in a half-joking way._

**_ Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die, _ **

**_ Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die, _ **

**_ Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die, _ **

**_ He ain't gonna jump no more!!! _ **

_Cheers ring out. We’re all laughing._

…

   “Martin?” To Martin, the voice felt like he was listening to it through water, “Martin?! Wake up!” Douglas…?

Martin snapped back into consciousness. “S-sorry… Sorry… W-what did I-I m-miss?”

   “You were… singing, Crieff…” Douglas informed.

   “Apologies. I sort of… blacked out, I suppose…”

   “So… Cards, anyone?” Douglas, more announced than asked, to the sound of cheers.

   _Oh… Anderson… Kieran… Are you alright?_ Martin thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way Martin walks is filmed here - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IWHbF5jGJY0 - It's from WWI, but it suffices.
> 
> Karl described real food consumed by soldiers.
> 
> The song the soldiers were singing is here - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VWgsdexkv18 - it's a bit cleaner than it would be; some would be out of tune, some would be shouting, etc.
> 
> Land owner - dead
> 
> Please review.


	4. Trench humour

   It was around lunch when Martin awoke from his brief nap to the sound of raucous laughter. “Ah, Crieff; you’re awake! Come look through Karl’s magazine collection with us! It’s bally hilarious!” Douglas announced.

   “What’s so funny about it?”

   “Listen to this joke weather report! Odds are: eight ‘a one, light mist; seven ‘a two, easterly wind; and two ‘a one for chlorine gas!” Karl laughed, along with the rest of the room.

   “That’s horrible!” Martin gasped.

   “No, no, no! You gotta laugh about it, like, don’t ya?”

   “I don’t see why…” Martin stated, aloof.

   “Well… ‘ere’s another. Plot of land for sale, may contain barbed wire, noisy neighbours on both sides, located in no man’s land!” Karl guffawed, Douglas following heartily.

   “Who would want to own an area of no man’s land?” Martin sniffed.

   “You don’t really understand humour, do you Crieff?” Douglas asked, eyebrow raised.

   “Another, another!” Karl chuckled, “Oh! A real life one! A young soldier fighting in Italy managed to jump in a foxhole just ahead of a spray of bullets. He immediately attempted to deepen the hole with his hands and unearthed a silver crucifix, obviously left by a previous occupant. A moment later, a leaping figure landed beside him as shells screamed overhead. The soldier turned to see that his companion in trouble was an Army Chaplain. Holding up the crucifix, the soldier said ‘am I glad to see you, how do you make this thing work?’!”

   Martin stumbled to the washroom; he couldn’t be bothered with trench humour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first two jokes were from real humour magazines in the trenches and the story was, indeed, true.
> 
> Please review! :)


	5. Marvelous Mary

   “Dinner chaps!” Arthur began to distribute the small plates of ‘food’, “Oh! Hello Skip, glad to see you’re feeling better!” Arthur beamed.

   “A little better, I suppose…” Martin sighed.

   “That’s great Skip! You deserve to feel better; being a war hero –”

   “Go… Away…” Martin growled.

   “But –”

   “Arthur, I’d listen to Crieff, if I were you…” Douglas advised.

   “Oh… Ok…” Arthur frowned.

   “Come on, now; don’t look so blue. Christmas is coming in, what is it now, three days?” Douglas smiled.

   “Oh! Yes! We’ll be doing our music ball performances!” Arthur beamed.

   “Music _hall_ ,Arthur… Do you and Dirk know what you’re doing?” Douglas asked.

   “Yes, I think we do!” Arthur nodded.

   “Just give ‘em your best sing-song Douglas, and they’ll be fine!” Karl dismissed.

   “Don’t I always give my best _‘sing-song’_?” Douglas boasted.

   “What’s that?” Martin asked.

   “A little performance we put on at Christmas time every year, Arthur and Dirk are doing a little sketch while I sing ‘Run Rabbit’. I’ve even decided what to do for my encore…”

   “What makes you think you’ll get an encore?” Martin raised a quizzical eyebrow.

   “I _always_ get an encore,” Douglas smiled, smugly.

   “Don’t boast to him!” Karl smirked, “There’s plenty of rumours going around about you, Crieff; music hall great! Or should I say Marvellous Mary?”

   “What?” Douglas laughed. He turned to Martin and saw the horrified look on the captain’s face. “Not to worry, Captain. It’s tradition for a drag act in music hall and it also means Karl won’t have to do it; last time was bad enough!”

   “Hey! I was great!” Karl frowned.

   “Dirk thought so when he didn’t realise you were actually a man…” Douglas smirked.

   “How is that never speaking about it again?!” Karl very nearly shrieked, Dirk turned a deep shade of red.

   Martin and Douglas chuckled. “Come on, _Mary_ ; it’ll be a bit of fun…” Douglas assured.

   “Fine! But I need to borrow a dress…” Martin sighed, there was no use arguing with Douglas.

   “There’s a nurse I know that would be happy to let you have it, she’s a fan of music hall…”

   “Fine!” Martin went back to his aviation manual.

   “From what I’ve heard, we’re in for a treat, boys!” Karl laughed.

   “Oh, and Dirk, don’t snog Martin; even if he is in a dress,” Douglas drawled, Dirk just growled, "What are you going to do now, though, Karl?"

   "I'll probably sing something by George Formby..." Karl pondered.

   "Of course you will..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't resist! It was often arranged for performances to increase moral; I don't know if they took place in hospitals but they did in the trenches, so I assume so...
> 
> Inspired by Blackadder.
> 
> Please review! :)


	6. Crashing and burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A late-night disturbance in the ward triggers Martin and Karl and Douglas help calm him down.

   The night was almost peaceful. All the soldiers in the ward were asleep for once – even Martin.

   The peace lasted until three a.m. when nurses and doctors started shouting about help and other such things.

   Martin had woken like a shot, skin pale, and shaking. Douglas grumbled and tried turning away from the noise, but woke up nonetheless. Karl had sworn and blindly went to grab the gun he slept with in the trenches, only to realise a second later that he wasn’t still at the frontline and there was no gun to grab. Dirk just slept through it like a log; Douglas saw the kind smile Karl gave the sleeping man.

   “I’ll brew up. Crieff’ll need it…” Douglas sighed reluctantly.

   “I’ll go see if ‘e’s alright…” Karl informed before he shuffled off his own bed and settled next to Marin as Douglas went to find some tea, “Hey, Cap’n… You feelin’ alright?”

   “Fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. Fine –” Martin stuttered.

   “Ssh… It’s alright. You sound like a broken record sometimes…” Karl chuckled humourlessly.

   “I-I n-need to g-go h-home…” Martin grabbed at his hair, trying to ground himself.

   “Hey. Hey, now…” Karl gently pulled Martin’s hands from his tangled curls, “Douglas is making… What d’you pilots call it? Char? Well, y’know, tea.”

   “Th-thanks…”

   “Don’t say nothin’,” Karl put an arm around the captain’s shoulders and the young man clung to him like the only buoyancy-aid in the sea of panic he was in, “Ssh… It’s alright Martin… Go back to sleep…”

   “No bastard ever won a war by dying for his country. He won it by making the other poor dumb bastard die for his country,” Martin struggled against the tremors.

   “Well put…” Karl smiled sadly.

   “I miss Kieran and Anderson… They were friends, I couldn’t keep them safe. I always told Kieran he’d make it back to Lilly… but he never did…” Martin cried.

   “You couldn’t save ‘im Martin, it wasn’t your fault; it was the bloody Jerries’,” Karl barely contained his anger at those machine gunners for what they’d done.

   “I wish they were here…” Martin barely whispered.

   “We all wish someone were ‘ere, Cap’n… We all do…” Karl could feel the tremors fade as Martin slipped into unconsciousness. He gently lowered the captain back onto the bed.

   Douglas walked back into the ward, “Looks like he’s out for a duck… Poor boy…” he sighed.

   Karl smiled at the only affection Douglas has shown for Martin in four months. “’E reminds me of my son back home…”

   “You’re a father?” Douglas asked.

   “Yeah, little ten year old boy. Little devil sometimes, mind. Bein’ a dad does somethin’ to you… I treat Martin and Dirk like my children, sometimes. It’s a bit disturbing…”

Douglas let a slight huff of laughter pass his throat. “I’ve got a daughter, myself. She’s a young woman now, acts like it at least. She’ll be going into the big, wide world soon. A little too soon.”

   “Wouldn’t trade ‘em for the world, would we?” Karl laughed.

   “Of course not. What about Dirk? Would you trade him in?”

   “No… I don’t think I would. The boy’s not bright, but he’s a good person. Someone I don’t have to kill or want to kill and, trust me, that list gets shorter every day…”

   “Depressing thought…”

   “True, though. Bet you’ve felt, it too…”

   “Of course I have. Who in here hasn’t? I’m pretty sure Crieff would like to strangle me with my own intestines sometimes…”

   Karl laughed. “Yeah, go easy on ‘im, for pity’s sake.”

   “I think I will… He has seen a lot… What else is a father to do…?” Douglas stretched his back with a pop, “Well, I suppose you may as well drink this if Crieff’s asleep…” Douglas handed Karl the mug of tea, “I’ll go find Dr Knapp-Shappey or Arthur and see what the ruddy hell’s going on…”

   “Night, Douglas…” Karl nodded as he went to climb back into his own bed.

   “Goodnight, Karl.”

…

   Douglas’ cold, bare feet slapped the ground as he walked towards Carolyn. She still had bloodstains up to her elbows and her scrubs were covered in spurts of blood; she cut quite the gruesome figure as she leaned her back against the wall with a mug in her hands. “Coffee?” Douglas asked to draw her attention.

   “Tea. I don’t feel like coffee…” she replied, monotonous.

   “Triggered Crieff with the shouting, by the way. What happened this time?” Douglas asked bluntly, he knew Carolyn would answer any question when she was like this; a bit unprofessional, but very useful.

   “Face blasted off when he fell on a grenade, as well as multiple bullet wounds through the chest. Too much blood loss and brain injury to save...”

   “I’m sorry…”

   “Don’t be. Feel sorry for the family. If you want to feel sorry for staff, feel sorry for Arthur; he’s the one who’s taking him down to the morgue and filling out the paperwork. Arthur is the one who will find out about this soldier’s life at home and who he was. To me, he might as well be a mannequin…”

   “I know that’s not true. You see Arthur in all these young boys. It’s killing you, Carolyn. Talk to Dr Shipwright, I think you need some time off…”

   “No, I can do this. I am a doctor. I’ll get through it.”

   “If you really think so, Carolyn but remember, no one will think any less of you if you take a break.”

   Carolyn nodded silently and gave a quick squeeze to Douglas’ shoulder before slumping away. Douglas didn’t care about the blood she left on his clothes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "No bastard ever won a war by dying for his country. He won it by making the other poor dumb bastard die for his country." - Quote from General George S. Patton, Jr. in Patton by Francis Ford Coppola
> 
> I think I may have made it too fluffy for the time... *Shrugs*
> 
> Please review!


	7. Blame the Jerries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Douglas gains some humanity.

   Douglas never did manage to get back to sleep that night. He caught a glimpse of that unlucky soldier as Arthur transported his to the morgue; his face was a mess and his chest was a gory mess. _Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die_. Bloody song.

   What was even more disturbing (that _really_ should be right, but it was) Arthur had a grim frown on his face alongside a look of exhaustion and exasperation. There was even evidence of frown lines on his young face.

   It was dawn now. That was when Douglas had lost his arrogant manner towards the war. Jokes about Chlorine gas and no man’s land ran through his mind and he felt the repulsion Martin had. He thought of Karl’s automatic response to grab a gun if he was startled awake. He thought of Dirk’s silence; Karl said Dirk used to talk non-stop in the trench, before they were both injured, and that he had just… stopped talking. He thought of the bags under the doctors’ and nurses’ eyes. He thought of Martin’s fits and how terrifying they must be for the boy to make him shake like that and look so pale. He thought of the way Martin walked and knew it was because of the shell shock. He thought of Arthur’s rapidly deepening frown lines that had no place on the face of such a young optimist. Arthur was twenty four. Karl was twenty eight. Dirk was thirty five. Martin was twenty. Just twenty. He thought of the ruined innocence of Martin and Arthur. He thought of how close Karl’s young family had come to losing him. He thought of Dirks grunts, never words; how would he get another job? He finally thought about the families of the men and boys the war had took and death had claimed.

   _Dear God, let this day be better_ , Douglas thought, looking out at the sun climbing slowly to its position, _Christmas can’t come soon enough…_

   He then thought of Christmas back home; Turkey, potatoes roasted in goose fat, his wife’s delicious stuffing, his mother’s famous Christmas pudding recipe. They wouldn’t be doing that this Christmas. He’d be in this hospital and they’d be tightening their belts due to rationing. A rotten Christmas. The fifth rotten Christmas in a row.

   He wondered what Christmas had been like for the others. Had theirs been full of Turkey and presents and Christmas trees? Probably not for Dirk and Karl, at least. Had Martin’s?

   Thinking of the man, Martin finally stirred after crashing a few hours previous, “Douglas…?” was the sleepy question which, in all fairness, was rather adorable; like a small child.

   “Are you alright?”

   “What are you doing awake?”

   “Couldn’t sleep.”

   “Why ever not?”

   “Thinking.”

   “About?”

   “Christmas. What was it like for you? Back home?”

   “Not much different to any other day, really…”

   “Oh? Not religious?”

   “No, couldn’t afford it…”

   “What?”

   “We couldn’t afford it. Christmas dinner was the same as any other day; thin soup stretched out with even more water to make it last…”

   “What? But –”

   “I put on this middle class accent. I’m from a working class family in Wokingham.”

   “Why are you telling me this?”

   “I don’t want to blatantly lie anymore. You asked me a direct question, so I gave you an honest answer.”

   “God help you if the Nazis get you,” Douglas joked, but Martin’s face just dropped, reminded of his condition.

   “I’m being invalided home, remember. Can’t do my duty anymore…”

   “Sorry…”

   “Don’t be,” Martin’s mouth twitched at the corners, “Blame the Jerries.”

   Douglas stared at the Captain’s back as Martin lay back down and turned away from him. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review.


	8. Tuppence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin and Douglas have a smoke and talk about their childhoods.

   The morning was rather uneventful compared to the night before. Martin stumbled out of bed to go for a smoke and Douglas decided to join him.

   Martin’s hands still shook slightly as he lit the cigarette, but Douglas said nothing. The boy took a long drag and closed his eyes. “That’s better…” he sighed, exhaling the cigarette smoke as he did.

   “Looks like it,” Douglas smirked half-heartedly.

   “Everything tiggerty-boo?” Martin asked.

   “Isn’t that my line?”

   “You didn’t answer me.”

   “Just thinking…”

   “’Bout what,” Martin slipped into his real accent before realising and clamped a hand over his mouth.

   “Well, I’ll tell you, the Artful Dodger,” Douglas joked before he saw Martin’s brow furrowed in confusion, “It’s Dickens. From Oliver Twist!”

   “I’ve never read it…”

   “You’re joking!”

   “No. Like I said, couldn’t afford it. The tuppence I earned that didn’t go towards food for the family; I spent on flight manuals and other books on aviation.”

   “Earned?”

   “Yes, earned. I used to clean out gutters on the weekend; I earned half a shilling for each one I cleaned.”

   “Only half a shilling for all that work?”

   “I was eight, Douglas and I couldn’t do it all the time; the only reason why they hired me was because I was cheap. Weekends and after school, sometimes before, were the only times I could as a didn’t want to miss school because I needed to get good marks so I could be a pilot. My dad was so disappointed; he said that if I missed school we would have decent food. Selfish of me, really…”

   “Not at all; you were trying to make a future for yourself.”

   “Well, it didn’t work out very well as I ended up getting Rickets when I was ten. I missed a few months of school and never quite caught up…”

   “Why was it only you?”

   “Caitlin got ill and I gave her most of my food money so we could get medicine. I was surviving on the kindness of old ladies who bake too much and even thinner soup…”

   “That’s appalling!”

   “No, that’s life… Why, what your middle-upper class childhood like?”

   “Much, much better than that. I had enough food to eat, plenty of toys, all that.”

   “Really?”

   “Yes. If I’d have known then what I know now; I’d probably, I don’t know, give my toys to some of the children I saw playing in the bad part of town in torn, dirty clothes. Their parents’ could sell them, worst come to worst.”

   “No, you wouldn’t need to do that. They wouldn’t have trusted you enough to take them, anyway; they’d have taken one look at your snobbish clothes and ran; no offence intended.”

   “Why?”

   “Well… The posh boys tended to beat up the poor children. It was horrible.”

   “I don’t remember anything like that…”

   “Then you were a good one, which is refreshing. You know Captain Smith? He beat me when I was seven, broke my leg, too.”

   “God…”

   “Yeah. Do you want to go back in?” Martin stubbed his cigarette out on the brick wall.

   “Lead the way, Crieff.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much too open for the time, I really do apologise.
> 
> Please review!


	9. A new idea

   Martin and Douglas jumped when they heard barking from down the corridor; Martin wasn’t pale and shaking though, which was good.

   “Snoopadoop, no!” The distant voice of Dr Knapp-Shappey chastised.

   “What the…?” Douglas began before a Golden Retriever barrelled into the room dragging Carolyn behind. The beast jumped on Martin’s bed and nuzzled the captain affectionately.

   “Hello there…” Martin giggled – _giggled_ – as he scratched the dog’s head.

   “Who let that thing in here?” Douglas demanded, sounding a little flustered.

   “That _thing_ is my dog, Snoopadoop. We’re using a new idea – therapy dogs – to treat Shell Shock, trauma and all that…” Carolyn explained, she noticed Douglas was as far away from the dog as his bed would allow, “Douglas… Are you afraid of dogs?”

   “No! God no! Don’t be… Don’t be preposterous!” Snoopadoop leapt onto Douglas’ bed, “Ah!” Douglas fell out of the covers and scrambled as far away as he could.

   “You are!” Martin grinned, “Come here, Snoopadoop!” He patted his legs and the dog jumped into his lap. “Who’s a lovely dog?”

   Dr Herc Shipwright stormed into the ward, “What is that ridiculous dog doing here?!”

   Carolyn straightened her posture and drew her shoulders back, “She isn’t a ridiculous dog and I am trying a new idea that has been quite successful –”

   “That doesn’t matter! I am the senior member of staff and you are my responsibility!”

   “Why? Because I’m a woman?”

   “Yes!” Dr Shipwright yelled, earning a hard slap from Carolyn.

   “Listen to me, Shipwright; I am the best bally doctor in this hospital, and that is why you keep me here. I have listened to all these new theories and have decided to try the best of these. Therapy dogs are the future; I mean, look at Martin. He’s laughing, Shipwright – _laughing_!” Carolyn kept her glare as Dr Shipwright clutched his bright red cheek.

   “Very well…” He said quietly, defeated as he turned back the way he came.

   “Thank you Carolyn,” Martin smiled as he continued to pat Snoopadoop.

   “What for?” She asked, frowning in confusion.

   “For telling him off and getting him to allow Snoopadoop to stay here – I really like her,” Martin smiled softly as Snoopadoop nuzzled his neck and settled down.

   “Yes, _thank you, Carolyn_ ,” Douglas drawled.

   “That’s quite alright, Captain Crieff,” She nodded before promptly leaving. She didn't want _Douglas_ of all people seeing the fond smile on her face.

   She bumped into Karl and Dirk on their way back from having a cigarette. “I’ve left you boys a surprise; her name’s Snoopadoop and she’s in your ward… But I think you’ll have to fight Martin for her…” She informed.

   “A girl!” Karl exclaimed. Dirk looked at him in that certain way, “Oh, I know Snoopadoop’s a weird name; but it’s a _girl_!”

   It was as if the starter’s pistol had gone when the two men took off down the corridor. Carolyn chuckled to herself; God, they were in for a surprise…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? Inspired by the lovely SailorLestrade! :D
> 
> Please review!


	10. I'm not that kind of girl

   “There we are, captain,” A young nurse stated as she dropped a folded dress onto Martin’s bed, “Douglas said you needed a dress for the music hall performance. Any idea what you’ll be doing?”

   “Top secret, I’m afraid,” Douglas joked from the side-lines.

   “J-just the usual; s-sing, a crude j-joke or two, that sort of thing…” Martin informed.

   “Try the dress on, let’s see how it looks!” The girl hurried. Martin – a little shocked at her insistence – followed her order blindly. He stumbled out of bed to go and get changed.

   “I think you made a good choice…” Douglas acknowledged.

   “Well, thank you Douglas. I told you not to doubt me. It will look even better with some makeup; I talked Dr Knapp-Shappey into letting Martin borrow some of hers, if he wants to.”

   “Well, _Mary_ is being spoilt,” Douglas smirked.

   “I’m ready…” Came an airy, breathy, feminine voice came from outside the ward before Martin stumbled into the room, dress flowing as he did.

   The nurse tutted, “I’ll get Dr Knapp-Shappey; she hasn’t seen you walk, has she?”

   “Uh…” Martin begins before the nurse sighs, silencing him.

   “I will get her and we’ll start relaxation therapy tomorrow; you should be walking normally by the end of the day…”

   “W-what?” Martin couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

   “Our results have shown dramatic improvement over the course of one working day. You should be walking somewhat properly by the end of the day,” she smiled.

   “Oh, God!” Martin gasped, “Please, get her! I’d love to walk properly again! Please!”

   The nurse chuckled as Martin took a stumbled, clumsy step forward; the hem of the dress brushing against his smooth legs. “I’ll do that now,” she smiled, going to complete her task.

   “You look lovey, _Mary_ ,” Douglas drawled with a smirk on his lips.

   “Stop that, now,” Martin ordered firmly, but in his feminine voice.

   “Oh, I mean it that you look lovely…” Douglas admitted.

   “No, I mean I’m not the kind of girl who kisses any chap who calls me pretty,” Martin smirked.

   “I can see you were popular…” Douglas comments with a raised eyebrow.

   Before Martin could respond, he noticed a hand running down his hip. Dirk. Of course. “Sorry, Dirk; I’m not that sort of girl,” Martin stated in his masculine voice. Dirk startled backwards.

   “Dirk, you have to start being careful,” Douglas drawled, “The boys are going to start to think these aren’t accidents…”

   Dirk frowned at Douglas in return. Karl chuckled, “Well, Martin; you do look the part.”

   “Thank you,” Martin stumbled into a clumsy curtsy.

   “Oh, Martin; don’t you look pretty,” Carolyn smiled, Martin blushed, “I’m still ticked off that you didn’t tell me that you were having trouble walking. We’ll start therapy tomorrow and you’ll be walking fine again.”

   “Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehehehe! What do you think? Please review! :)


	11. I can tell it by your horoscope

   The night came, and it seemed no one could get to sleep, so they all stayed up telling jokes. Karl seemed to know an awful lot of anti-Italian jokes. “What is the Italian battle flag?” He announced.

   “What?” The rest chorus together.

“A white cross on a white background!” Despite themselves, they all laugh. “Oh! Dirk’s got one!” Karl took the piece of paper from his friend, who had written the joke on it. “Oh! From our time undercover! This is a good one! Hitler and Göring are standing atop the Berlin radio tower. Hitler says he wants to do something to put a smile on Berliners’ faces. So Göring says: ‘Why don’t you jump?’”

   All of the soldiers laugh at that. “I’d push him off!” Martin boasts, “Let those SAS men come and arrest me…” Martin started to drift into his real accent once again, “I could take ‘um! I’d go down with a fight!” Douglas, Dirk and Karl started laughing. “Wha’ you…” Martin finally notices and clamped his hand over his mouth, as he would do.

   “Well, cap’n; we ‘ad no idea!” Karl laughed, “’Ell of a good impression, though.”

   “Yes, _Fagin_ ,” Douglas smirked.

   “I’m guessing that’s from Oliver Twist again. Stop repeating yourself,” Martin attempted to smirk, his middle class accent back in place.

   “Well, boys; I’m all out of jokes,” Karl admitted. “How about a song? Pass me my Ukulele, Dirk.”

   “George Formby?” Douglas asked.

   “Of course,” Karl smiled as he began to play.

_I can read the future and tell if fate's unkind._

_The stars I've read I'll look ahead and this is what I find_

_Climbing last week a big mountain peak, I slipped down the rocky slope_

_I cried as I fell "I'm on my way to bed, I can tell it by my horoscope"._

_My cousin Joe pulled a wishbone with Flo and said, "For the best let's hope"_

_Then he whispered, "Ooh! My wish is coming true; I can tell it by my horoscope"._

_There's lucky colours, lucky stones, lucky numbers too._

_Lucky eight as sure as fate will always pull me through._

_My cousin Kate is putting on weight; I said "You’re beyond all hope"_

_Nature's unkind, your futures all behind, I can tell it by your horoscope._

_Once an old maid, said “I’m afraid my future brings no hope”_

_I said “don’t give way, the troupes are home today –_

   “Yeah, right!” Douglas interjected.

_I can tell it by your horoscope._

_Early on morn, a baby was born; its father said “please don’t mope_

_Let’s jump for joy, I know that it’s a boy; I can tell it by his horoscope”_

_There's lucky colours, lucky stones, there’s lucky numbers too._

_Lucky eight as sure as fate will always pull me through._

_I study stars, Venus and Mars, for Venus there isn't much hope._

_She's all wrapped in gauze with a pair of flannel socks I can tell it by your horoscope!_

   “You lot, _shut up_!” Dr Knapp-Shappey yelled.

   Dirk put his Ukulele down and sighed. “Might as well get some sleep, boys.”

   The rest agreed and they shuffled down in their beds and threw the covers over their shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can tell it by my horoscope: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KIA7gpQyTKw&list=PL18OlQ3JF3d_OX35082vj-WVprIfW20A5&index=2


	12. You know what they say about sailors

   In the morning, Carolyn herded Martin away for his day of rehabilitation; so Douglas was left with Karl and Dirk. “Sterling company these chaps, aren’t they,” Douglas nodded towards the two unconscious sailors they share a ward with.

   “Dr Knapp-Shappey says they’ll be wakin’ up soon. Enjoy the peace; you know what they say about sailors…” Karl advised.

   “The only things I’ve heard about sailors come from the rather liberal girls I knew in London. All of them don’t apply to us… Or at least I hope not…”

   “Nah! I mean they’re _loud_ –”

   “The girls said that too…”

   “Filthy.”

   “Says the man singing ‘My little snapshot album’ in the shower…”

   “Now, listen Douglas –!”

   “What’s all this noise…?” Rasped a voice by the side of them. Karl and Douglas jumped.

   “Oh, thought you’d be waking up soon,” Douglas commented, “Douglas Richardson; RAF officer, well, former RAF officer. I’m going back to Blighty soon. That’s Karl and that’s Dirk; regular privates. Dirk doesn’t speak, he isn’t being rude, and Karl talks too much; so it’s a nice balance…”

   “Hey! You’re the one who talks too much, Douglas!” Karl sniffed.

   “Anyway, there’s another chap too, Captain Martin Crieff; he’s a war hero, but don’t call him a war hero,” Douglas explained.

   “Why not?” The sailor frowned.

   “’E really doesn’t like it…” Karl sighed.

   “Fine. My name’s Phillip, by the way,” the sailor informed.

   “Splendid. Now, as I’m sure you don’t know, tomorrow is Christmas Eve and the day after that we are putting on the traditional Christmas Day music hall performance. You don’t have to join in, but it’s a bit of fun. Crieff’s going to be the drag act this year; looks surprisingly like a girl in that dress…” Douglas informed.

   “That’s nice; think I’ll do something by George Formby…” Phillip contemplated.

   “Just don’t touch ‘Cleaning Windows’ Karl huffed.

   “Alright… So, what do you boys do for fun?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review! Can you guess what song Phillip is singing?


	13. Liechtenstein, not Berlin

   It was a boring day. Nothing really happened after Phillip woke up. Douglas found himself missing Martin’s company. Karl made jokes; Arthur messed up said jokes and brought them near-inedible food; Dirk stayed silent as ever; and Phillip was whisked away by Dr Shipwright for a physical and mental examination.

   Boring. Boring. Boring.

   Douglas felt like he was about to get up and bang his head against the wall just so he’d have something to do when Martin walked – _walked_ – into the ward accompanied with Dr Knapp-Shappey.

   “Hello, chaps,” Martin greeted, waking Karl from his nap; making the man swear and reach for his gun that wasn’t there.

   “Good lord, Martin you’re walking much better already!” Douglas exclaimed.

   “I’ll take that as a complement of my abilities, Douglas,” Carolyn smiled, “Thank you.”

   “Not necessary,” Douglas shrugged.

   A nurse ran in. “Uh, Captain Crieff? There’s someone on the telephone for you…”

   “What? Oh God!” Martin paled and ran to the telephone. The others only heard snippets of _German_. “Halo?” “Ist alles in Ordnung, Majestät?” “Was?! Theresa?! Nein!” “Bitte halten Sie mich auf dem Laufenden…” “Auf Wiedersehen.”

   “What? Why is he speaking German?!” Carolyn questioned.

   Martin hung up and entered the room again. “In case you’re wondering; I was talking to Liechtenstein, not Berlin…” Martin said quietly before completely breaking down, falling to his knees with tears in his eyes.

   Carolyn, being a doctor, was at his side instantly, helping Martin onto his bed. “Martin, what’s the matter?” She asked.

   “She’s gone! They got her! I told her she shouldn’t, but she did and now she might be… Oh God! First the boys in my squadron and now her! Maybe I should just take Dirk’s gun and blow my bally brains out before my bad luck hurts anyone else!” Martin sobbed.

   “Martin, there’s no need to do that…” Carolyn comforted.

   Douglas settled himself on Martin’s other side. “Who’s gone?” he asked quietly.

   “Theresa! Oh, she was amazing! And now they bloody took her!” Douglas rubbed Martin’s shoulder.

   “Who’s Theresa?” Douglas asked.

   “My girl… Well, almost. We exchange letters… She wanted to invite me to the palace to meet when the war is over and now she’s gone!”

   There was a flicker of an unreadable expression on Douglas’ face. “The palace?”

   “She’s a princess. She shouldn’t have gone…”

   That last remark made Douglas confused, “Where has she gone?”

   “She wanted to help, even though her country’s neutral. She crossed the border into Czechoslovakia and got information for our government. But… But her father just telephoned to say… She’s been captured!”

   “Martin, it’s going to be alright. She will be alright…” Carolyn comforted.

   “She could be killed at any moment, Carolyn! And I can’t fly anymore so I can’t… I don’t know… Do _something_ …”

   “Captain, you couldn’t have done anything. She’ll be fine…” Douglas attempted to smile reassuringly.

   “Why do all the people I love die?” Douglas and Carolyn held him as he broke until he slipped into unconsciousness.

   Karl was the first to break the silence. “I knew you nicked your gun…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so sad :/
> 
> Please review


	14. Chesterfield cigarettes

   Martin woke that morning to the soft sound of ‘Have yourself a merry little Christmas’ played on the gramophone. It was nice.

   “Merry Christmas Eve, Crieff. Up for a cigarette; and not a cheap one,” Douglas greeted.

   “Yes, thank you; merry Christmas Eve,” Martin smiled.

   They walked down the corridor together – it was an odd sight to see Martin walking, and even running, normally – to smoke. It was becoming a bit of a habit; but who were they hurting?

   “Chesterfield?” Douglas offered, holding the packet towards Martin.

   “Oh! Those are good…” Martin smiled, “Are you sure you want to give one away?”

   “Crieff, it’s fine; just take one,” Douglas shrugged.

   “You haven’t put rat poison in one, have you?” Martin joked.

   “Just take one before I change my mind…” Douglas sighed in feigned annoyance.

   Martin took his advice, lighting it with his slightly shaking hands and taking a long drag; “That… is rather nice…”

   “Glad you think so.”

   “No… Oh! That is perfect…” Martin sighed, taking another drag.

   “Much better than the usual cheap stuff,” Douglas agreed, drawing on his own with practised ease.

   Karl and Dirk came running up to them. “Crieff, Richardson; rumour is, everyone wants a team up of you two for an encore tomorrow. Choose wisely!” Karl informed before running off again to get his Ukulele.

   “He’s a bit wound up, isn’t he?” Douglas smirked.

   “Probably trying to get everything ready; you know Karl,” Martin shrugged, “What do you think about the double act idea?”

   “I quite like it. I wanted to sing ‘Our sergeant major’ –”

   “Wait. A George Formby song?” Martin smirked.

   “I just want to have an excuse to offend Birling in ward B,” Douglas defended.

   “Of course,” Martin smirked, “Shall we?” he said, pointing to the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How nice of Douglas to give Martin a nice cigarette like that (they weren't aware of the dangers of smoking back then, so it would be considered a nice gesture).
> 
> Please review.


	15. Don't get too close

   “I will say, Crieff…” Douglas began, “You seem to be taking the news about Theresa remarkably well…”

   Martin frowned. “How do you know about Theresa?”

   “What? Martin, you can’t be serious…” Douglas frowned. Didn’t the boy remember his girl was in trouble?

   “I had an unusual dream that I got a telephone call saying she’d been captured last night… But I never said a word about her to you…”

   “Martin…” How the hell does one go about something like this? “It wasn’t a dream…”

   “What?!”

   “You really did get that phone call yesterday… I’m sorry…”

   “B-but you… you and Carolyn… and… OH GOD!” Martin sobbed.

   “Martin, it’s going to be alright; she’s going to be fine.”

   “How can she be!? Oh God! I have such horrendous luck it kills anyone I’ve ever loved! Oh, Theresa; she was so perfect… And I killed her…”

   “Martin, you didn’t kill her. She’ll be fine. You didn’t do anything wrong…”

   As Martin cried, Douglas settled on the young man’s bed and drew him into a hug. “Don’t get to close; I don’t want you to die, too…”

   “I won’t until my time comes, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am planning to post a separate epilogue when this is finished. Everything will make sense there; but it will be a heart-breaking thing, so you may choose to let it be and come to your own conclusions...


	16. Love

   “Let me go, Richardson!” Martin yelled; he was tearing himself to pieces. Douglas had rugby-tackled him after the boy kicked the bed and snapped one of its legs off.

   “No! You need to… calm down…!” Douglas struggled. Martin was surprisingly strong. He managed to dodge an elbow to the ribs.

   “Just let me go! I need to pack!”

   “Crieff, I’m sure that makes sense in your head, but it really doesn’t to me!”

   “I’m going to Czechoslovakia; I have to find her!”

   “Do you even know _where_ in Czechoslovakia she’s being held?!”

   “No, but I can find her!”

   “You can’t do it, Martin!”

   “That’s what they said about being a pilot, and I bally well did that!” Martin grew frantic.

   “It’s not the same! You _can’t_ because you’re still recovering! How would you even get there?!”

   “I’d think of something! I know enough German to get by!”

   “I don’t doubt that, but there is a war on! You have shell-shock! You won’t be able to cross the boarders now, anyway!”

   “I can do it!”

   “No you can’t!”

   “What’s all this yelling!?!” Dr Knapp-Shappey shouted above Martin’s frantic babble.

   “You might want to give Martin a sedative; he’s taking the news about Theresa rather badly…” Douglas informed; that mystery look in his eye.

   “Arthur! Sedative!” Carolyn called urgently. Arthur ran in; looking surprisingly professional as he passed his mother the syringe. Carolyn administered it quickly and efficiently; sending Martin’s mind into darkness.

   As the boy slumped, Douglas climbed off from his position of straddling the Captain’s thighs. “Thank you…” He thanked breathlessly.

   “Not a problem; Arthur, help me get Crieff on the b– Oh… Get him on a different bed…” Carolyn ordered as she picked up Martin’s legs and Arthur lifted him be his armpits.

   They lowered the captain onto the bed. “It’s a bally shame what war does to people,” Carolyn said simply before walking off to continue her rounds.

   However, Arthur was still in the room. “It’s Christmas tomorrow,” the nurse stated.

   “Yes…” Douglas prompted.

   “And Skip’s spending it worrying about whether or not his girl is dead. War’s a horrid thing…” He sighed.

   “Not to worry; I think this was only a short thing. Tomorrow, he’ll put on that dress and sing and dance and he’ll forget all about her…”

   “You’ve never been in love, have you?” Arthur asked.

   “I have a wife and daughter, of course I have!” Douglas defended.

   “Then why don’t you know how it feels?” Arthur spat before striding off with a lot more dignity than usual. If he’d have looked back, he’d have seen the hurt on Douglas’ face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heart-breaking. I'm sorry. Please review.


	17. Blackstones

   Christmas had been slow in coming this year; like the past four, actually. Karl sat on his bed, tuning and retuning his ukulele. “Karl; I know it’s Christmas, but if you keep playing that cord over and over again I may have to cut the strings!” Douglas snapped.

   “Just makin’ sure it’s tuned…” Karl stated.

   “I will smother you with a pillow!” Phillip threatened.

   “Go ahead, bell bottom George!” Karl snarled. He seriously didn’t like Phillip.

   “Oh, you’re just –”

   “Karl… Phillip… Stop. It. Now,” Martin groaned into his pillow.

   “Merry Christmas, Captain,” Douglas greeted.

   “Merry Christmas to you, too,” Martin muttered, not bothering to move.

   “Feeling better, cap’n?” Karl asked.

   “I suppose… Possibly…” Martin grunted, “Just… numb. I’ll be fine once I start performing; I always am…”

   Douglas tried his best not to look smug. “How about a smoke, captain?”

   “I thought you’d never ask,” Martin sighed, more pleasantly, “What kind today?”

   “A _friend_ gave me these…” Douglas produced a cigar packet from under his mattress and Martin almost fell out of bed when he saw the label.

   “B-Blackstones!” Martin gasped.

   “Well, tis the season,” Douglas smirked.

   “Those… those are –”

   “One of the best cigars on the market; yes.”

   “Douglas…” Karl began, “Me and Dirk consider ourselves good friends of yours and, well –”

   “Not a chance,” Douglas dismissed.

   “You’re lovely,” Karl muttered.

   “Don’t you have a ukulele to tune?” Douglas drawled before striding off, Martin in tow.

...

   “You don’t have to share,” Martin stated as he took the cigar from Douglas.

   “Nonsense, I want to. I rather think we’re starting to become friends, Crieff,” Douglas smirked.

   “You know, I rather think you’re right…” Martin smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! First Christmas performance next chapter; can't wait to write it! 
> 
> Please review.

**Author's Note:**

> "Humility must always be the portion of any man who receives acclaim earned in blood of his followers and sacrifices of his friends." was a quote from General Dwight D. Eisenhower.
> 
> Arthur's nursing experience was a real experience of Retired Brigadier General Lillian Dunlap.
> 
> Please review. I'm doing this for memorial day on the 11th of November. Hoping to put up the final chapter at 11:11 on that day, but don't hold your breath. I'll be using quotes from real politicians and soldiers, so keep an eye out.


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